Happy Birthday, Sammy
by blaster342
Summary: They might not celebrate birthdays very often, but Dean is hellbent on doing that this year. For Sammy. AU story *TW: deals with suicide


**Happy birthday to Sam - 31 years old now. (Why did I feel the need to write a birthday fic? Poor Sammy)**

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They've never been big on this birthday thing. With the life they live, they don't really have the time for cakes and presents and balloons and parties and whatever the hell people do on their birthdays. They just… drink a beer together, say "Happy Birthday", a slap on the shoulder or rear, sometimes they buy really stupid presents and then proceed to laugh their asses off for no reason, but that's sort of it.

Sure, there've been some awesome birthdays too. Dad gave Dean the Impala at his eighteenth birthday, and Dean remembers them getting drunk as hell on Sam's seventeenth _(Dad was furious)_ which was hilarious, and when they were kids they'd try to buy a cupcake as a substitute for birthday cake. Sometimes they even got a candle.

They haven't celebrated close to anything in the last couple of years.

Well, screw that.

This is Sam's thirty-first birthday, and why not break their little tradition of not celebrating birthdays? Dean's even got a cake this time.

"For the record, I _did_ try to bake one myself and dude, I'm telling you, making hamburgers and baking cakes are two **completely **different things," he grumbles. An amused snort is the only reply he gets. Hey, sue him for giving up and just buying the damn thing instead.

They're sitting outside in the greening grass and for the first time in far too long Dean feels completely relaxed. The warmth of the sun is washing over them, the sky's a soft shade of blue dotted with small white clouds, the birds are chirping happily in the trees and hell, the general smell of _spring_ is in the air.

"Dude, could you possibly have picked a gayer date as your birthday?" he teases. No freakin' way would he admit out loud how much he loves second May. Nuh-uh, Sam's the girl who thinks about flowers and sunshine and spring, while Dean Winchester is very manly and does not think about girly Sam-things, thank you very much.

There's only one candle on the cake because Dean really didn't feel like piercing the poor thing with candles thirty-one times, because what if the cake has feelings too? The two plates are placed in the grass and the cake is still untouched.

Dean leans back against the cool tree trunk behind him and stretches out his legs with a yawn.

"Geez Sammy, relax, would you? How long is it since we did anything close to relaxing, anyway? No, _no –_ don't you dare answer. You being sick 'cause of the trials and coughing out your lungs is **not** relaxing, just because I made you lie down in bed and take it easy just for a little while doesn't count as _resting._ Don't you roll your eyes at me, you know I'm right. Big brother's always right, remember?"

Dean doesn't need to look at Sam to know he's ducking his head in order to hide the spreading smile, but he doesn't protest and the silence speaks for itself. Dean smiles ridiculously wide and closes his eyes. Yeah, the birthday thing was a good idea.

For a while, laying in the sun and simply **being**_(being together, being brothers, being Sam&Dean, being them)_ is enough and they allow themselves to enjoy the beginning of May. The silence is comfortable and soothing, so peaceful that Dean could almost forget Sam's there at all. That thought sort of tries to ruin his mood.

"Hey Sam?" he asks, keeping his eyes clenched shut. "You know I... I've missed this. Missed you. Missed _us._ You know? And sometimes it feels like I'm…" he breaks off. A hand ghosts over his arm, offering comfort, reaching out, _trying to help_, and Dean focuses on trying to pull himself together. "Heh. Talking about missing, you should probably call Cas soon. He's getting pretty lonely without his fellow geek, and man, he looks like someone took his puppy away." _He's not the only one, either._

"I can't do this man," he chokes out. "I miss you."

He opens his eyes and feels like crying. Sam isn't there. The phantom touches, the whispered words… Sam's just not there. A sob threatens to break free and he clamps a hand over his mouth to hold it in. The sun keeps shining, the birds are singing, the birthday cake's candle is still burning, second May is still beautiful, _and why is the world not falling apart_? It's not _fair_.

"Why didn't you listen to me, Sam?" he forces himself to ask, a_gain_. "Why didn't you _stop_? Why was I _too late_? Sammy… You think I give a damn about Hell being locked down? You think I fucking care about _anything at all_ now? Why the hell would the world matter when there's nothing here left for me? Huh?"

His sight is blurring and he's angrily blinking back the tears. He's not going to cry, not today, it's Sammy's birthday… He's done enough crying and screaming and begging and cursing already.

"Hell's closed but you're not here," he says, calmer this time. He tries to relax again and tries to imagine Sam sitting next to him in the grass. With his eyes closed it's much easier.

He grabs the package hidden under his jacket spread out on the ground and holds it up. "I even got you a present this year," he murmurs and fingers the wrapping. "I know it's not what you'd wish for, but…"

He shrugs.

He peels of the paper and wraps his fingers around the present. "I'm cheating, you know. You did too, when you were five, so don't give me those accusing eyes. It's a… second-hand gift? Yeah. It's actually mine, but hey, the bullets are new."

The handgun is glinting in the sun and Dean thinks he should feel nervous, but all he feels is peace.

"I thought about pills, but they just didn't seem like my thing. Gun's better. _Go out with a bang_, eh, Sammy? Uh. Do you think I'm a bullet to the temple or in the mouth kind of guy?" Dean's not stupid. He _knows_ that Sam would throttle him for doing this, but…

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I tried. For a while. I think. Not really. But I just can't. Don't be mad at me. Don't you do that."

Dean puts the gun under his chin and cocks the hammer back. "The angels fell. Heaven's closed, souls can't get through, I know. But don't worry. Hell, we're Winchesters. I'll find you. I'll always find you."

He looks at the birthday cake, then down at the photo of a smiling Sam in his left hand. He smiles, and this time, it's a real smile. His fingers start pushing against the trigger.

"Happy Birthday Sammy."

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**See, this is what happens when I try to write something happy. Damn.**

**Reviews will be loved and cherished and cuddled!**


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